


Sugar Rainbows and Bad Ideas

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam, Crack, Dean tastes the rainbow, Feelings, Humor, M/M, Sex Pollen, but like rainbow dust sex pollen, early season 1, this fic is a hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 21:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: Rolling over to try to pin down the leprechaun, or whatever - that’s seriously way stronger than it looks - Sam whips his head up and sees Dean with a hand out, waving through the shimmery light. It’s like he’s trying to catch the rainbow in his hand, weapons dropped to the grass, and there’s a look of wonder on his face, big eyes and big smile, as he licks his fingers.“Dean, do Not eat that rainbow!”Sam has no idea what rainbow dust does to a person, but it’s probably not good.





	

Sometimes, Sam wonders why more monsters don’t hang out in big cities. He’s only gotten back to hunting with his brother for a few months now, and he misses a lot of the things it was easy to take for granted in Palo Alto. Well, maybe it wasn’t a big city, but the cluster of downtown businesses had all the amenities you could need. Sam’s tired of the huge stretches of nothing that make up middle America and the monsters that call creepy backwoods home.

Of course, big cities present their own challenges to hunting. Nosy people getting in the way. And the monsters that hunt urban tend to be smarter, they’ve figured out how to live around people, like parasites.

Maybe, traipsing through the woods with a heavy duffel full of different weapons because they don’t know what kind of monster they’re up against isn’t such a bad thing.

Also, the view is nice.

“Are you sure we aren’t hunting a leprechaun here, Sammy?”

His obnoxious, loud brother says from several feet in front of him. Sam has kind of zoned out watching Dean’s ass. Not like he makes a habit of zoning out during a hunt, but it’s broad daylight and they’re following a freaking rainbow.

“I mean, we’re following a fucking rainbow.”

Sam rolls his eyes, turns his head up to the bright, glimmering swath of color cutting through the sky that they’re following.

“Leprechauns aren’t real.” He states.

“We hunt plenty of things that people think are make-believe.”

“Well some of them aren’t real. Like leprechauns.”

The rainbow thing is kind of weird. There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the earth is dry. There hasn’t been rain for weeks. But there’s been a rainbow hovering over this backwaters town of a couple thousand, and people have been striking luck all over. Winning money. Eloping. Someone’s dead dog came back to life.

And all of the people that got lucky have reported seeing funny things in the woods under the rainbow.

It can not be a leprechaun.

It just can’t.

But, even good luck comes with a price and there’s no such thing as coincidence, so here they are.

Following the rainbow.

“I don’t know man, if it really is a wish granting leprechaun, maybe he can give you a sense of humor. And better hair.”

-

There was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, which actually did curved down into a patch of earth at a clearing in the woods, the grass around it verdant and sparkling. Seriously unnatural. Sam had still doubted that this was the work of a leprechaun - witch, maybe, or some supernatural creature playing pranks.

But then a little, vicious, knee-height humanoid with pointy ears and needle-sharp teeth latched onto Sam’s leg and he’s pretty sure it’s a freaking leprechaun.

Iron’s probably the safest bet, but it’s hard to dig out the right knife when something is snarling and trying to climb up you and your brother is being absolutely useless just standing there staring at the freaking rainbow.

“A little help here Dean!”

Dean waves him off, back turned, like Sam’s a pesky kid asking for a backride or help learning to pack salt rounds.

Sam reaches across his shoulder where teeth and nails and fury are digging through his coat, gets a hand on something scraggly and tears, flinging the leprechaun across the clearing into the mossy trunk of an old tree.

The sun’s just as bright as ever, and the rainbow is kind of glimmering so radiant it’s starting to hurt his eyes. Sam barely gets a hand closed around the handle of an iron crowbar when the foaming mad creature bowls into him, weight slamming against the backs of his knees and Sam goes down.

The grass is fragrant and sweet crushed underneath him - and this thing that’s trying to chew his leg off. A fine iridescent dust that catches the sunlight and pulls it apart into colorful fractures, poofs up around them and Sam gets distracted by a coughing fit.

“It tastes so sweet….”

Rolling over to try to pin down the leprechaun, or whatever - that’s seriously way stronger than it looks - Sam whips his head up and sees Dean with a hand out, waving through the shimmery light. It’s like he’s trying to catch the rainbow in his hand, weapons dropped to the grass, and there’s a look of wonder on his face, big eyes and big smile, as he licks his fingers.

“Dean, do Not eat that rainbow!”

Sam has no idea what rainbow dust does to a person, but it’s probably not good.

His jacket is pretty tattered and his jeans are grass-stained grimy by the time he wrangles the leprechaun to submission, beating it with the crowbar a few times and then digging out iron chains to wrap it up when that barely seemed to slow the thing down. He’s got it locked and bound and it’s still rolling around in the grass growling at him when Sam can finally pull his brother away from the rainbow that he’s trying to eat.

“What the hell man?”

Dean gasps, shakes his head and blinks at Sam.

“I…. wait, is that a fucking leprechaun?”

-

Dean’s pacing. He’s been jittery and amped up since they made their way out of the forest and back to the hotel. Sam watches him closely. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are too dilated even for the weak motel light.

“I say we just stab him until we find something that kills him.”

Waving an arm wide at the thing still bound in iron chains now propped on a chair in the corner of their room, Dean makes a move for the duffel bag at the foot of a bed.

Sam crosses in front of him. “Dean, just calm down. We should figure out what he is first.”

“Dead is what he is. Good enough?”

“No,” Sam folds both arms over his chest and stands his ground in front of the weapons. “Look, leprechaun or whatever, it’s done some pretty serious magic, and that doesn’t come without a price. We should figure out what it is and how to undo whatever’s been done first.”

Turning and pacing more, Dean shrugs out of his leather jacket, drapes it across a chair that’s still at the table. He stalks to the fridge and pulls out a single beer, sitting at the table with a sulky ‘you never let me do fun things’ look. Half the bottle is drained in a single gulp.

“Dude, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine. I just really wanna kill -” Dean points towards the bundle of chains and seething anger “-whatever that is.”

The creature growls around the gag in his mouth, sounding like a broken wall a/c unit. It had rolled around in the trunk and made nasty hissing noises for the whole ride back to the hotel, and had toppled off the chair a few times, but for the moment it’s settled down. And now Dean’s pissing it off again. Great.

“I don’t know if getting close to the rainbow was such a good idea.” Or trying to eat it, but hey, what does Sam know.

Come to think of it, his skin has felt a little itchy and warm around his hands, face and neck, a few spots on his body near the nicks where the creature has bit or clawed through his clothes. Maybe the rainbow dust really was dangerous.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Sam tells his brother, “Just, please don’t do anything stupid ok?”

“I don’t need you to babysit me.”

Sam digs through his duffel bag for a change of clothes, and the neosporin, before shutting himself in the bathroom.

-

There are a couple of nasty gashes but for the most part Sam’s just scraped up. His head is a bit woozy and warm, so the nagging sense of ‘something is wrong with Dean’ only gets worse during his tepid shower. Pulling on his boxers and combing his fingers through his long hair, Sam leaves it at that. It feels like a fever is setting in.

Something is definitely not right.

In the span of a ten minute shower, Dean has kicked off his shoes, taken off his socks, and gotten down to a soft gray undershirt. He’s sitting at the table, empty beer by an elbow, glaring at the thing in the corner like he could kill it with the force of his eyes alone, and the skin of his forearms is pinkened where he’s rubbing his hands over them repetitiously.

Sam places a hand on his shoulder and Dean jolts. “Hey, seriously man, what’s going on?”

Dean stands and turns, toe to toe, his pupils so dilated there’s hardly any green. His hands are burning where he places them on Sam’s waist, leaning in with a drunken sway.

“I don’t know.”

Shivering, suddenly cold next to his brother’s heat, Sam’s mouth goes dry. “Why don’t we, I could pick up some food and we’ll get some research in. Yeah. We should… research.”

Humming, Dean strokes his thumbs over the line of Sam’s hipbones, thicker with muscle now, but lean-lean and it’s such an achingly familiar gesture that Sam’s yanked back years, feeling so small.

Only, this time, Dean is shorter and he has to lean up. That can’t be right. Sam had just made it to eye level the last time -

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Placing a hand weakly on Dean’s chest, Sam makes a token effort to push him away.

“It’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Dean leans in, and Sam tilts away, turning his head to the side as soft lips brush across his jaw, hands slipping around his waist to the small of his back and oh Dean has the perfect height just like this to nose under his jaw and kiss that spot below his ear that makes Sam quiver down to his toes.

The last person he’d touched, like this, had sun-golden hair and smelled like vanilla. Her absence is an ache so sharp Sam still keeps awake from it at night, curled under the bedsheets in a different bed from his brother, slowing his breathing to pretend he’s asleep when all he can do is cry uselessly into his pillow with her name and the memory of her body still on his lips.

There’s an older ache layered under that one. The big brother Sam’d left at a bus stop years ago. There’s that person Dean used to be, and Sam remembers him keenly, remembers how easy his smile was with the windows down and the music loud, how Dean used to touch Sam like he owned him, and he did.

Sometimes, Sam still sees familiar things, but Dean’s so different after four years apart. After Jessica. There are so many afters and things he thought he’d left behind and this is a bad, dangerous idea because Sam doesn’t know if they can be that again or if they’ll be something new. He doesn’t know if he can.

All the craters of loss in his chest keep filling patchwork like slapping asphalt over a pothole but it cracks again with time and age and he’s not whole.

The hot mouth moving down his neck sweeps over his shoulder, pressing kisses to his skin gently, like Sam’s still a knobby-kneed and colt shy boy confused by the things he wants from his brother’s mouth.

Dean’s calloused hands drag up his back and down, fingers teasing under the waistband of his boxers. Stepped closer, one foot outside one foot between Sam’s, Dean presses against him and he’s so hot through his clothes, dick hard and straining.

This is familiar and comfortable, and strange and unknown. Sam is distantly aware that something happened to them but he can’t think of what, all he wants is to kiss Dean back but -

“The leprechaun’s watching.”

Dean pulls back, blinks dazedly, and laughs. Taking a step away, he pulls his shirt off and flings it into the corner, covering the head of the thing that starts hissing underneath it, but hey. At least it’s not watching anymore.

Cupping Dean’s jaw in both his hands, Sam kisses him. Sweet and shy, uncertain if he really is welcome, if he really is allowed to have this, after he left, after he fucked up. But Dean reaches for it, cranes upward and throws his arms over Sam’s shoulder, licks into him and Sam whimpers.

Stumbling, pushing Dean backward and following, lips to his cheek, his chin, his mouth, teeth scraping his tongue in that rough way that still makes Dean’s hips buck, Sam backs him against the bed and Dean falls onto it.

Heaving a deep breath, Sam can’t think straight with Dean sprawled, shirtless, skin pale past the tan line and the burnished gleam of the amulet Sam gave him ages ago sits right under the notch of his collarbone on black twine.

He kept it. Sam’s seen it, on the outsides of shirts, swaying when Dean leans over the trunk of the Impala, wet from a shower because he never takes it off - never - but it hits Sam. It’s just a childish trinket, and Bobby had given it to Sam to give to their Dad, but Dean’s always been more of a father-figure to him and god, isn’t that fucked up.

“You just going to stare?”

Dean grumbles, pushes his jeans down, dick slapping against his belly as he kicks them off, plush of his hips a little softer and he’s definitely lapsed into worse eating habits since Sam hasn’t been around to shove salads in his face.

There really is no going back. Sam’s not going to go back to college, he’s not going to go back to a normal life. He’s going to fuck his brother and they’re going to kill a leprachaun, then they’ll move on to another hunt and another motel bed and eventually they’ll find Dad, and Sam thinks that maybe he can get used to it again.

Tripping over his boxers as he pushes them down, Sam throws shirts out of Dean’s duffel bag looking for the lube that he knows is in there, Dean’s hands on his hips pulling him into the bed, mouth against his side, his arm. Rolling, Sam finds Dean staring up at him, flushed and beautiful and needy.

“Baby boy.”

His voice stutters and shivers into Sam.

“M’right here.”

Sam swears there’s still a shimmer on Dean’s skin, teasingly shifting colors in the light, streaked around his mouth.

“Hey,” Dean says, hands drifting to Sam’s hips, “D’you think the rainbow’s luck gives you what you want the most?”

“I’m not what you want most,” Sam says. Because he shouldn’t be. Because it hurts.

So he lowers his forehead to Dean’s, breaths against him and drops his hips to rut against the solid heat of his brother.

“You’re all I want.”

Dean angles his head, slots their mouths together for a melting hot kiss, legs bracketing Sam squeeze tighter and Dean flips them. Sam sprawls underneath him, limbs reaching the edges of the bed and he remembers when Dean could blanket him wholly. His feet peek out the end now but it’s still like being wrapped up warm and safe from the world.

There’s an itch under the skin of his hands crawling up his arms into his core, but it soothes when he lifts them to Dean’s chest, the wide span of his hands covering side to side and slipping around to pull Dean closer. Chest to chest, Dean folds up one of Sam’s legs and makes himself at home between them, heat of his cock dragging over Sam’s erection, precome slick and Dean groans.

“God, I’m burning up,” Dean tells the corner of Sam’s mouth.

Sam hums his agreement, soothing the itch in his hands roaming over Dean’s body, muscle shifting firm and steady under the soft swathes of skin between slivered old scars.

“I gotta get in you, baby.”

“Yeah.”

Sam gasps, arches his back as Dean bends another leg up and holds him open, sits up taking all the warmth with him. The lube Sam’d gotten out sits in the folds of the sheets where he’d dropped it. Dean stares. Strokes his hands down the insides of Sam’s thighs and up the crease of his hips. Sam’s cheeks burn hot, must be as bright as the flush lighting Dean up, and his body has the muscle memory of this but the dimensions are all off.

“Grew up big,” Dean bites his lip and ghosts his fingers over the living twitch of Sam’s cock, looks at him like he’s burning it into the backs of his eyes.

“Dean,” Sam puts as much pleading in his voice as he can, practically slaps Dean on the arm with the bottle of lube, braces his feet on the hard muscle of Dean’s thighs and flexes his toes, curling, pushing his hips up, begging.

Dean’s groan rattles out guttural, hands fumbling for the lube, one pushing Sam’s leg wide again while he slicks and slides a finger in, head dipping down and getting his mouth around Sam’s cock and Sam could fucking cry. It’s making him frantic, this clutching inside his chest, razor wire tied to Dean.

Fingers brushing through the short spikes of Dean’s hair, hardened with product and gritty from the hunt, there’s shimmery rainbow dust falling out that powders over Sam’s face and he licks his lips because he can taste Dean on them and it’s so, fucking, sweet.

Toes curling with a shock of arousal sharp enough to hurt, Dean’s mouth working a miracle on his cock while he’s stretched wide on fingers and he can’t stop the way his body seizes, drawing them in, Sam pushes at Dean’s head, scoots out from under him.

Dean hasn’t much to say other than a confused whine, but once Sam gets turned over onto his hands and knees, pushes up, Dean’s hands are back on him. Holding him steady. Mouth tracing wet up his spine and there’s the blunt head of a cock at his hole and Sam’s burning from the inside.

This is what he wants the most.

For now and forever.

There’s no going back to what they were, and there’s no erasing the in between. Sam realizes Dean isn’t the only one who’s changed during the separation. But he’s more certain now, more certain than dizzying teen adulation, of what he needs.

Bright hot pleasure lances through him and Sam rolls his hips back, squeezes his hands in the sheets and buries his face in the unchanged sour sweat and shaving cream smell of Dean’s pillow.

Dean is fast and he’s desperate too, clutching onto Sam’s hips bruise-tight, teeth dragging over his shoulder and Sam leans his head aside so Dean can find the right spot, clamp down harshly on that lifeline through his heart down his spine into the heat between his legs that swells and expands, pulses erratic adrenaline-high and Sam screams into the pillow, ass up, legs spread for his brother.

That’s what he’s always wanted.

-

The leprechaun is gone in the morning.

The insides of Sam’s thighs are sticky and his neck is throbbing sore. Tapping fingers gently, he finds the tender spot and when the lightest touch makes it sting he knows there’ll be a wicked bruise there.

The lights are still on.

Actually, it’s not quite morning. Little after five, the glow of the clock askew on the side table says. The curtains are wide open, jesus, anyone could of walked past last night, and the sky is turning inky with pre-dawn.

Dean is drooling on his pillow, mouth open, snoring a little.

The iron chains are piled on the floor between the corner and the door, and the leprechaun is gone.

Sam smacks his brother.

“Dean, wake up!”

Sam leans back when he realizes he’s startling Dean awake, his brother reaching for a weapon under the pillow, and Dean’s cheeks still look a little splotchy when he sits up knife in hand, sputtering and looking around the room.

“What?”

“The leprechaun is gone.”

Dean glances to the corner.

“Son of a bitch!”

Sam winces at the tone of his brother’s voice, stands up and winces again for a different reason.

He’s not sure where his boxers are, so he pulls on his jeans.

“Told you we should of just stabbed it until it died!”

“Yeah, fine. But I’m still worried about the after-effects of it’s magic.”

Dean starts tearing the room apart. Sam, curious, pulls a dirty shirt over his head and wanders outside into the parking lot, cracked pavement cold under his feet, dew on the scraggly weeds separating the lot from the street. Over the tops of the small mainstreet buildings the sun starts coming up, and the sky is a clear, uninterrupted blue.

“No rainbow.”

“Huh?”

Dean pokes his head out of the motel door, jeans on and not even buttoned.

“The rainbow’s gone.”

“Huh.”

Shirtless, leaning around the door, Dean makes a grabby hand at Sam.

“Come back inside, it’s cold out.”


End file.
